As soon as he wakes, Beaver notices the smell. “Shit”, he coughs. Yep. Definitely, he thinks, it smells like shit in here. The scene isn’t abysmal, more like, dreary. He stretches, and licks his lips, coughs some, and pads to the bathroom for ablutions, scratching himself down the hall, he’s not thinking a single thought.

The phone rings, in his office. He’s still in the shower. Since it’s likely a bill collector, or The Mess, (he totally calls Shaun Mess Shaun, since she calls him Monsieur Beaver and she hates it) hequickly continues to sing and wash. His mood snaps to and his mind drifts to home improvement. Like demolition. Silently laughing to himself as he towels off, his clothes get on as the damn phone goes off, again. Gotta be the mess. He’s in no hurry. There are twenty some odd teeth he’s gotta get cleaned, and two ears, too. No shaving, though, that’s for pussies.

Beaver considers how he will get Shaun to stop calling him back to back. Like that. It annoys him on so many levels. Like, she thinks, since there’s so much time in, they can just do whatever, and usually he’s down with that. But this acting like he’s supposed to always answer, it’s a bit much. Gonna have to take it up with the little lady, he’s sure. Other night he’s bagging an Alabama eleven, and the mess is calling three, four times in a row, it threw his rhythm off. He didn’t think about killing her, but it came close.

He dresses savvy no matter the day, as he is a man of the cool nature. Checks his jewelry, all still accounted for, there are several peircings, that, when the hole is big enough, they tend to wander a bit, if he slept in fits. He does that some. The rapist informed him once, that it was unchecked aggression makes people do that. He’s slightly confused by this, since he has zero aggression, mainly thoughts that could turn into aggression. Mainly he sees the act done, in his mind, if called for, and feels better. Shaun does this as well. Says it’s the healthy, stay free way. He agrees.